


Parachute Roll

by yanatya



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, PWP, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-27
Updated: 2004-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanatya/pseuds/yanatya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If circumstances prevent a textbook landing, you have to roll and hope for the best. Written for Em Meredith's <a href="http://bubblefic.healthyinterest.net/">bubbleficathon</a>. My challenge was Josh/Donna and a washcloth, as well as, of course, bubblebath type stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parachute Roll

**Author's Note:**

> The original incarnation of this story was written for another challenge but never published. I just couldn't get it to work, and so it languished for years. Special thanks not only to Christine who betaed both versions of this sucker but also to [Cath](http://buttonmush.tripod.com/westwing.htm) and [Roga](http://roga.dreamwidth.org/) who took the time to beta the original version of this story all those years ago :) and whose much appreciated efforts will now never see the light of day. Thanks, guys, for your patience and help.

He was staring at her again for no apparent reason. It was an irritating new habit of his, not only because of the natural discomfiture one might experience when someone else watches one without saying anything, but also because it gave her a little rush, a little physical twinge in her chest, a forcible reminder that false hope is a heady thing.

So she ignored him for as long as she could.

"Donna?" In her peripheral vision he entered her cubicle and leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

She didn't look up. "Yes?"

"Come with me."

"No." She kept her eyes firmly on her computer screen, determined not to sneak a glance at the middle-aged, egotistical, emotionally retarded, incredibly hot man lounging next to her.

"It's a work thing."

"It's a birthday party."

"A *fiftieth* birthday party."

"Still."

"It's in Florida."

"Don't forget to visit your mother."

"She's on a cruise."

"In Martinique, as we speak."

"You're rhyming now?"

"I'd like to go on a cruise."

"I could make you come."

"You really couldn't."

"Watch me."

"Josh, if you just need someone along as cover..."

"Yeah." He pounced on that. "It has to look casual, not like I'm showing up just to strong-arm Passler."

"You are."

"I'm not. They like me."

"For reasons passing understanding." She shoved herself away from the keyboard and looked up at him.

"They wouldn't have invited me if they didn't. This is an exclusive event."

"See, when you describe it like that, I think of a ballroom with beautiful dresses, champagne, and high-rolling Democrats."

"So?"

"It's a barbeque, Josh. No band, no marble pillars, not even a waiter passing out hors d'oeuvres and booze."

"It'll be homey. Eating dinner with friends, in one's home, celebrating a birthday the way normal Americans do."

"Believe it or not, I've done that before." Her lips tightening, she turned her attention back to her computer.

"And they like you, too," he pointed out.

"I know." She failed to keep the smug look off her face as she pretended to concentrate on the screen.

"So you'll come?"

"Why don't you ask—"

"No."

Donna's gaze flicked to his face briefly, and seeing his stony expression, she decided not to push that suggestion further. She started typing again, hoping he'd give up and go away.

*****

Of course, he didn't go away, which was why she was currently drinking beer on the Passlers' patio in the hot Florida sun and pretending to laugh with their friends.

The joke teller was an older Englishman, a former pilot who talked about every inconsequential thing that entered his head. Donna's other companion was an enthusiastic middle-aged woman who apparently loved cats.

Not that she'd said so, but the fluorescent pink and green felines dancing on her cotton blouse and the equally fluorescent cat earrings that swayed and jiggled as she moved her head seemed to indicate something akin to a fetish.

Reminding herself that small talk was better than no talk in this situation, Donna tried to laugh and follow the thread of the conversation.

The Englishman was rambling about his Air Force days. "They shipped us up to the northern wilderness for training, y'know."

"The Arctic?" Donna enquired politely.

"What? No. Scotland."

"Ah."

"Damn cold. In the mornings I had to break the ice on the washbasin if I wanted to shave."

"Goodness!" Donna exclaimed. Then she realized she'd never used the word "goodness" that way ever before, and decided she was maybe laying the polite interest on a little thick.

The old pilot didn't seem to mind. He grunted sternly. "The RAF builds character. Discipline..."

Thankfully the cat lady broke in. "Well, I could never stand the cold. That's why we keep a trailer here in Florida..."

Trading one banality for another, Donna thought. Then she realized she'd never used the word "banality" before either and decided she was going to make Josh pay--seriously pay--for dragging her along.

She searched the patio with her eyes while she nodded and smiled, hoping to at least catch his eye and glare at him briefly. He was nowhere to be seen--probably off with the birthday girl, Congresswoman Passler, trying to get her support.

She tried to take comfort in that fact, telling herself that the sooner he was done, the sooner they could leave. She had plans, she told herself. Plans that involved lounging in an air-conditioned hotel, ordering more room service than she could possibly eat, and passing out in front of an old black and white movie on TV. If they left soon enough, she could add sunbathing with a book by the hotel pool to the list.

He was going to pay, she grumbled to herself, all the while smiling politely at the cat lady's anecdote.

Glancing around again, she noticed the Congresswoman's husband trying to maneuver through the sliding patio door with a huge platter of vegetables and dip. He wasn't having much luck, so she excused herself quickly and went to help.

"Here." She slid the screen door across so he could get out.

"Thanks," he grinned sheepishly. "I don't know how long she'll be, but I didn't want the natives getting restless." He gestured with the platter.

Donna smiled. "Can I give you a hand?"

"That would be great," he said, looking relieved. "There's another one of these in the kitchen with fruit. I'll just be over there." He indicated a table with his chin.

Escape from small talk, she thought, wandering into the house to find the kitchen.

The platter waiting on the counter was just as large as the one Passler's husband had carried out. It was loaded mostly with deep red, luscious-looking strawberries, but there were also juicily ripe orange sections and bright yellow banana slices. She couldn't resist trying them all, which necessitated licking her fingers and hunting down a paper towel to wipe the juice off her chin, and she noted happily that the yogurt dip in the centre of the tray wasn't thick enough to leave dip marks.

She planned her trip carefully, so that she wouldn't get stuck at the sliding screen door the way her host had. Balancing on one foot, holding the door open with the other, she twisted around, lifted the heavily laden platter off the TV table she'd placed by the door and stepped outside with a smirk.

People flocked around her, complimenting the look of the fruit, stealing pieces, slowing her progress as she paraded across the patio to the food table.

Which was why what happened next was so unexpected.

She tripped.

She tottered forward a few steps, trying to save herself, but her mind calmly informed her that it was a lost cause. She was going to fall. Another step. Her mind told her she wouldn't be able to save the platter, either...

And then she was tumbling to the ground, clinging to the platter in futile hope, instinctively twisting her body to catch her weight on something other than her outstretched arms.

It didn't work. She landed hard, the platter smashing under her, the momentum of her fall sending her skidding headfirst across the hard patio tile. She grunted as the air left her body in a rush.

A crowd gathered around her, concerned voices from all directions asking her if she was all right. She tried to push herself up on her hands to turn over, but as she twisted her body around she slipped on the crushed fruit under her and landed flat on her back.

Then she realized her hands were shaking. Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, she steadied her nerves before trying to sit up again.

Her host was already beside her, asking if she was hurt, if she needed to go to the hospital, and embarrassed, she began to apologize for ruining the food.

"It's all right," he assured her. "Don't worry about it. Here -- can you stand?" He tried to lift her up under her armpits but she held up her slimy, fruit-covered hand to stop him.

"I'm okay." She struggled to push herself up on her hands and knees, then climbed slowly to her feet. Surveying the mass of squashed fruit and yogurt on the ground in front of her, then the state of her clothes, she bit her lip and grimaced again. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it!" he repeated. "The main thing is that you're okay." She smiled weakly, looking down at herself again, and he took the hint. "Why don't I let you use my daughter's room to clean up a bit?"

Every part of her either ached or tingled from the shock of falling. Drawing in a breath, she tried to keep from flushing an even deeper shade of red. Most of the other guests had politely turned back to their own conversations, but a hand landed on her arm as she picked her way gingerly to the house.

She looked up to see the English ex-pilot and the cat lady. "Are you all right?" the cat lady blurted, clearly distressed. Donna tried to think of a joke to shrug off her embarrassment.

"Of course she's all right," the Englishman interjected sternly. "That was a perfect parachute roll she did."

"OOOh..." The cat lady's eyes went round.

"Not really," Donna said weakly.

"I was in the RAF, young lady, and that was a perfect parachute roll. There was no way you could have been harmed."

Donna smiled ruefully, thinking of her pride, and was glad her host chose that moment to urge her inside the house.

"I'm sorry," she said yet again as she stepped over the threshold.

He grinned. "Stop saying that. It's okay, really. Barb will be sorry she missed it."

Donna managed to smile again. "Josh too." She took a few moments as her host led her through the house to remind herself that she was very, very grateful Josh hadn't been around.

Mr. Passler took her down two flights of stairs to the basement. "Julie pretty much has the run of this floor when she's home." He indicated the door to his daughter's bedroom.

"She's not here?" Donna enquired politely.

He snorted. "She's finding herself in Europe for a year."

Donna couldn't help but smile. "That would be fun."

"I'm sure it is. Listen, there's a bathroom through there. You get cleaned up, change into some of Julie's clothes. I'm sure she left things here."

"Oh, I couldn't."

He smiled at her warmly. "Sure you could. She won't mind, believe me." He squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay, " he said again before he left.

*****

With all the damn strawberries, it's impossible to tell if I'm bleeding, she thought, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. She peeled off her coulis-drenched shirt and frowned at the red mess of mashed fruit and juice and yogurt dip decorating her torso. It was already starting to dry stickily on her skin.

Her bra was ruined--definitely destined for the "wear this only when no one else will see it" pile. But her shirt...maybe she'd be able to bleach it clean if she soaked it right away. She dropped it in the bathtub behind her. It made a splat.

Ugh. She might as well sponge everything off at once, she thought, grabbing a washcloth from the towel rail and laying it on the corner of the bath.

She knelt beside the tub, cranking the cold tap. The sound of rushing water filled the room and she held the shirt against the stream, letting the water pelt down hard on the fabric and her hands, hoping to carry away the worst of the juice stains as well as all the fruit gunk.

Hmm. It was working pretty well. Maybe the bra was salvageable after all. She reached around to unhook the clasp.

"Wow, you really did make a mess of yourself."

She started, turning instinctively, and her bra clasp flew open. Quickly she crossed her arms in front of her breasts. "Josh!"

She couldn't re-hook her bra without flashing him, but that probably didn't matter anyway because he was staring at her body with a look of disbelief mixed with horror.

"Did you apologize?" he demanded, raising his eyes to her face.

"Of course I did!" she said indignantly. "Many times. I haven't stopped since it happened."

"Good." His eyes drifted down to her torso again and he grimaced once more before leaning back against the doorframe. "Passler is on side," he told her, running his hand through his hair, completely unaffected by her state of undress or the fruit salad stuck to her.  
"Good," she said tersely, waiting.

"Yeah, but it wasn't that hard a sell."

She waited some more. "Josh."

"Hmm?"

"Josh."

"What?"

"Is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Yes." He grinned and she rolled her eyes. "I was sent. A plastic bag." He pulled one out of his pocket and flourished it with a flick of his wrist.

"To suffocate myself with, in atonement?"

"To put your dirty clothes in."

She harrumphed. "Just leave it on the counter."

He didn't take that as a cue to leave so that she could finish cleaning up, so she continued, "I'm supposed to find something of their daughter Julie's to wear. Can you look?"

"Sure." He pushed off the doorframe and headed back to the bedroom. "T-shirt? Shorts?"

"Pants, if she has them." She took advantage of his absence to re-hook her bra, wring out her shirt, wet the washcloth, and start sponging fruit goo off herself. She leaned as far over the rim of the bathtub as she could, wanting to make sure that the whole mess fell inside the tub, not on the floor.

He returned with some clothes, dumping them unceremoniously on the bathroom counter.

"That was quick," she muttered, trying to lean over far enough that she could splash water directly onto her stomach.

"Well it wasn't like I was trying to scope out the kid's underwear," he said. She heard the sound of him opening the medicine cabinet and twisted her head around just in time to see him peering inside.

"Josh! But you'll look through her bathroom?"

"Everyone looks in the medicine cabinet. You have to know not to put embarrassing stuff in there, because any time you have guests..."

"Josh! That is her private...thing."

"Thing?"

"Close it!"

He did so, grinning.

"Wait." As she straightened, her stomach finally clean of fruit, she saw the grazes across it. She flashed back to her skid across the patio. Nothing serious, but now the fruit was gone and she could see them, her skin was tingling. "Open it again. I need some antiseptic."

He rummaged around. "Here." He handed some individually-wrapped alcohol wipes to her.

"Thanks." Getting off her knees, she sat down on the rim of the tub and tore open one of the packages. She hissed as the stinging alcohol made contact with her skin.

"Oops."

Gritting her teeth against the pain of cleaning her scratches—the alcohol hurt far worse than her initial tumble had—she looked up. "What do you mean, oops?"

"Apparently Julie hasn't learned never to put personal stuff in her medicine cabinet." He waggled a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms at her.

"Put them back, Josh!"

"I'm just saying..." But he put the box back when he saw the expression on her face.

She went back to dabbing the alcohol wipe against her skin and hissed again.

"Stings?" He came and sat down beside her on the tub.

"A bit." She tamped down her irritation and continued to clean all the abrasions she could see.

"Donna?"

"What?" she bit out.

"Are you gonna clean all that...cream...off your back?"

"What?!?" She craned her head around, trying to see the mess behind her.

Helpfully, he swiped a finger across her back and held it out for her to see. She wrinkled her nose. "Yogurt dip," she groaned. "How the hell did it get there?"

Josh reached down into the tub for the washcloth she'd been using. "Turn around," he said. "I'll get it."

She did, kneeling and bending over the rim of the tub again while he rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out.

The first slap of the wet cloth on her skin startled her. "Ah!"

"What?" His hand stilled.

"Cold!"

"Quit squirming and it'll be done sooner." He continued cleaning her off.

"Any scratches back there?"

He put one hand on the small of her back for leverage as he knelt down behind her for a closer look. "Nope."

"Ow!"

"Sorry."

She felt him shift, his knees straddling her knees, his thighs nudging hers. "Getting comfortable?" she snapped.

"What the hell did you do, Donna, roll in this stuff?"

She shut her eyes briefly. "I can't recall," she lied.

He leaned past her towards the tap, pressing against her intimately as he did so, pushing her middle uncomfortably against the rim of the tub. When he paused what he was doing and looked back at her, their faces were unexpectedly close.

He didn't say anything for a moment.

She waited, but after several seconds under his inscrutable gaze, she said, "Ow. You're squishing me."

"Sorry." He rinsed out the cloth and shifted his weight back onto his knees again.

He didn't slap the washcloth against her back this time. He went slowly, and she closed her eyes and focused on the feel of the cool, wet cloth as it skimmed over her skin, cleaning away the stickiness. She sighed. It wasn't as good as uninterrupted sleep in her own bed, but it was certainly some compensation.

Lost in the sensation, it took her thirty whole seconds to realise that he wasn't using firm, businesslike, let's-get-this-yogurt-off-you-quickly strokes anymore. The washcloth took its time, caressed her skin, polished it, raising damp goosebumps in its wake.

Abruptly he reached past her again to rinse the cloth out under the trickling tap, then returned to kneel behind her, his body brushing against her rear as she leaned over the rim of the tub, his hands smoothing the cloth over her shoulder blades, tracing the line of her spine again and again.

She bit her lip as her ass brushed against his groin. "Josh--"

"Shhhhh..." His warm breath bloomed faintly against her spine, setting her skin tingling. She hadn't realized his mouth was so close.

Her own breath began to shorten. Suddenly, nothing in the world could have made her ask whether there was still fruit on her.

The washcloth slipped under the straps of her bra to dampen the skin there, then moved away again. She bit her lip as the elastic snapped back.

Then the cloth was moving upwards, tracing small circles up her spine to the nape of her neck. She arched her shoulders a little as he reached a sensitive spot and the cloth obliged, lingering there a while, tracing designs on her skin.

Venturing up again, the wet cloth pressed a little harder against her neck, and two trickles of water skated over her collarbone and headed down her front. Her head bowed, she watched the drops slip down her skin to be absorbed by the fabric of her fruit-stained bra.

Looking down made the restless feeling in her chest focus on her nipples, which tightened into points beneath her bra. She didn't have time to consider this, though, because the cloth had finished caressing her shoulders and had slipped over to skim across her collarbone.

His free arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her up, so that she was no longer leaning over the tub. Her damp, cool back pressed against the warm cotton of his shirt and she sucked in a breath as she felt his cheek pressing against her hair.

She watched the hand that moved the cloth, mesmerized. It dipped under the strap of her bra and then pulled back. It traced tiny circles across her chest to the other strap. Then it headed down towards the rim of her bra, dampening the soft skin that swelled at the top of her breast.

"Josh! What--"

He hushed her again, his breath tickling her earlobe, and she realized she didn't want to say anything.

Then the hand, and the cloth, slipped lower. Under the fabric of her bra. Feathering the rounded contours of her breast. Back and forth, back and forth, the cloth slipped over the mound of soft skin. It slid out of one bra cup and into the other, massaging, kneading.

She bit her lip to stifle a whimper as the restless sensation inside her traveled down from her breasts, past her stomach to her hips. Her thighs. Her sex.

The cloth went down further under the fabric of her bra, brushing her nipple, circling it, rubbing it.

She couldn't stop her gasp. "Josh!"

His fingers covered her lips briefly. "Shhhhhhhh..."

She felt his hand move between them at her back, then suddenly her bra was loose, falling away from her body. The washcloth moved to her other nipple, pinching gently, and she cried out softly, barely aware of his free hand drawing the straps off her arms and dropping the bra into the tub in front of her.

The hand still holding the washcloth began to slowly knead her breast. A high, choked sound caught in her throat and a warm twitch settled between her legs. Her hips must have moved in some way, given him some sign, because it was as though he sensed what was happening to her. His free hand strayed to her pants, undoing the button and slipping inside to cup her.

She almost didn't hear the washcloth fall, making a damp thwap against the tub, because his hands were working in perfect synchronicity. One circled her nipple, one circled her clit. When one grasped and kneaded, so did the other. Her breath caught, then raced.

His lips came forward to rest near her ear, so that she could feel the harshness of his own hot breaths quickening. When her hips twitched back, a hard, warm ridge pressed against her ass.

She could see it, she thought, as her slacks slipped off her hips and puddled on the floor. Any moment now he was going to take her. He'd peel down her panties, bend her over the rim of the tub, and thrust into her from behind.

Her heart raced. Oh god, she thought, as his hands on her breast and sex sped up their tandem motions, circling and kneading. Any second now. Please. She panted and her hips shifted restlessly. She needed more from him, more pressure, more sensation, more...

He pinched her nipple and her clit simultaneously and she snapped, crying out and coming hard against the pressure of his thumb and forefinger.

His fingers released her and he caught her up in his arms, pulling her back against his chest as she quivered and gasped. He was a furnace behind her, all warm flesh covered in fabric, and she slumped back against him, wrapping her arms over his as her breathing began to slow.

It was when she came back down, her heart rate returning to normal, a post-orgasmic relaxation stealing over her, that she realized she needed to ask the question she'd put aside earlier, the question he'd helped her forget when he'd completely focused on his movements and her reactions...it was no wonder he'd made her come so easily. She'd reveled in the attention he'd paid to sating her needs.

Needs she hadn't realized she had. Needs he shouldn't have guessed she had...

She straightened, pulling far enough out of his embrace that she could turn and finally face him. His expression was one she didn't see often: hesitation.

Then the hesitancy was gone, replaced by a blank expression. She had to say something immediately, for both their sakes. "Josh..."

His arms suddenly left her and he stood so quickly that she swayed and had to clutch the rim of the tub for balance. "We've been down here too long," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. He turned and grabbed the plastic bag he'd brought in with him. "I'll put your stuff in the car. You come up as soon as you can--they were getting ready to eat."

"Josh," she said again, getting to her feet.

But he'd already swiped her wet shirt and her still-stained bra from the tub and shoved them in the bag. He leaned down in front of her, grabbed her trousers from the floor and bundled them under his arm.

She stood there, almost completely naked, and stared at him open-mouthed.

Silent seconds ticked by, one after another after another, before his eyes met hers. His lips pursed, as if he were about to form a "w", but what finally came out was, "I shouldn't have done that."

She gasped and he held up his hand. "That didn't come out right, but you know what I mean."

Like hell. She paled, stunned speechless.

"Okay," he continued, faced with her silence. "Maybe you don't. But we're going up there. Separately. We are going to eat dinner, separately. I am going to stand near Passler while she blows out her birthday candles. You're going chat politely with anybody you run into and make lame jokes about falling into a platter of fruit."

If he was going to keep talking like that, she needed clothes. She couldn't commit cold-blooded murder in the nude.

"And we are absolutely, totally not going to act as if we just...did it in the bathroom."

Though if his mouth kept moving, she might be inspired to try. She pulled the clean t-shirt he'd brought her over her head and glared at him.

"Right," he said, then turned and left.

"You bastard," she said softly at his retreating back. He didn't give any indication that he'd heard her, and she listened to his steady trudge as he climbed the stairs.

She was going to kill him. Not cleanly, either. She was going to beat him to a bloody pulp and then watch him die slowly.

That decided, she sagged back against the counter, surveying the bathtub. They hadn't even made much of a mess. There was nothing at all to indicate...what he'd done to her. It was strange that an event so significant could leave no physical evidence.

She slipped on the clean shorts Josh had brought her from the bedroom, then turned on the bathtub faucet and used the washcloth to swish over the floor of the tub, making sure all traces of fruit and yogurt were washed down the drain. She forced herself not to think about the washcloth at all as she gave it a final rinse, wrung it out, and hung it on the towel rail again. She straightened the bathmat, then washed and dried her hands and surveyed herself in the mirror.

She looked fine, of course. Tearing open another alcohol-wipe package, she reached up under her shirt to clean the grazes on her stomach once more. It hardly stung at all this time.

Having tossed the used wipes and empty packages in the garbage, she opened the medicine cabinet to put the unused ones away.

Her gaze fell to the shelf with the small box of glow-in-the-dark condoms Josh had waggled at her earlier. She picked it up--she'd always been curious about these--and examined the information printed on the package.

Huh. The expiration date was a month away.

Julie was in Europe for a year.

She was doing Julie a favour, she told herself as she stuffed the box into her pocket. Julie might forget, or give in to the temptation of using an expired condom, and that could have disastrous consequences.

Right.

******

He stuck to his "plan" pretty well. He was nowhere to be seen when she wandered back out to the patio a few minutes later, and she rejoined the cat lady and the Englishman.

Electing themselves her caretakers, her companions escorted her along the buffet, the ex-pilot pointing out dishes she should try, the cat lady bobbing her head and swinging her kitty-cat earrings back and forth as she spooned things onto Donna's plate. Their solicitude made her feel about six years old, but having to abandon her fury with Josh in order to act like a happy, friendly Democrat left her feeling bruised and desperately wanting someone to take care of her. So she let them believe she was still shaken up by her fall.

When Josh did come back, he headed straight for the Congresswoman and her husband near the barbeque. She caught part of an apologetic lie--"So I just stood there outside the bathroom door, listening to her swear, and every now and then the door would open a crack and a hand would shove another piece of wet, fruity clothing..."-- and gritted her teeth, taking a couple of steps back so she wouldn't have to listen. Even so, watching him circulate through the other guests, taking care not to run into her as he moved from group to group, made her knuckles whiten as she gripped her plate of birthday cake.

Her new friends eventually pulled three patio chairs together and settled on discussing the Passlers' local projects, a subject she could listen to with genuine interest. That helped her relax and focus her attention. She nearly jumped out of her skin forty-five minutes later when Josh came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.

She hated that her face flushed, but she caught his eye and nodded. Saying a much more fond goodbye to her companions than she'd initially imagined she would, she got up and went with Josh to speak with their hosts one more time. She couldn't help noticing that he stood near her but not too near, not touching her at all.

With a last promise to return their daughter's clothes, it was over.

*****

They drove back to the hotel in the rental car in uncomfortable silence. Having had some time to consider, she wasn't quite as angry as she had been earlier, but she did want answers and didn't want to ask them in a car, where he could effectively end the conversation as soon as they reached the hotel.

Given that he didn't say a single word to her, she guessed he didn't want to get into the discussion at all. That guess was born out when he mumbled something about a shower and shut his hotel room door in her face.

Her first urge was to put her fist through the door, but since she'd never taken martial arts, she retreated to her room, located next to his, to consider her options.

Collapsing on her bed, she realized she didn't have many. She wasn't going to—couldn't—pretend to forget what had happened, and that meant she was unemployed.

She exhaled heavily and curled up on her side, wrapping her arms around herself. It wasn't fair. He'd initiated everything. Even if she'd stopped him in the Passlers' bathroom, there would still have been something uncomfortable between them.

She took a deep breath, then another, and silently admitted that she was rationalizing. She wanted him—had wanted him for a long time—and regardless of their circumstances, she'd grabbed the opportunity when it had presented itself.

There was really only one thing she could do, now.

She looked down at her borrowed clothes.

Well, two things. First, she was going to call the hotel's laundry service.

*****

He hadn't been lying about taking a shower, but they didn't usually lock the adjoining door between their rooms and he'd apparently forgotten to do so now. Clutching her plan in her hand, she slipped silently into his room and then into his bathroom. His silhouette was clearly visible behind the shower curtain.

Any lingering nervousness and doubt vanished when she saw him. Moving quickly, she placed her burden on the counter and stepped into the shower too.

He yelped, actually yelped at the sight of her naked in front of him. The tub wasn't large, but when she took a step toward him he tried to back up.

She stifled her triumph. "Josh..."

"Donna!" he squeaked. With the trepidation in his eyes and the soap suds streaming down his chest, he looked adorably vulnerable.

She couldn't help herself. She let her gaze drift down to his cock, which was definitely taking an interest in her.

His hands moved instinctively to cover himself and she laughed. "Come here, Josh."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid you might kill me."

Her grin widened and she reached out and tugged at his wrist, pulling him under the shower spray. "The thing is," she said, letting her hands drift over his soapy body, helping the shower rinse all the bubbles away, "I think I'm out of a job."

He jerked away from her, his mouth opening in protest, but she pulled him back to her, turning his body to make sure the spray rinsed every part of him. "Shhh."

Now completely soaked herself, she stepped behind him and wrapped one arm across his chest, one across his stomach. She undulated, letting her slippery skin skim over his, her breasts sliding against his shoulder blades, and could have sworn she heard him whimper.

He'd be doing a lot more than that by the time she finished with him.

Leaning forward, she put her lips to his ear. "It's my fault," she lied. "All my fault."

He tried to turn, tried to object, but she didn't let him.

"I can't just forget what happened," she breathed against his earlobe. Pausing, she placed a wet, open kiss on his shoulder. "So if that was a one-time thing, I'm not going to be able to work for you anymore."

"Donna..."

Her arms slid back and forth over his torso, caressing him, and she planted more kisses up the side of his neck before continuing. "You made me come so hard, Josh," she murmured.

He went rigid in her embrace.

"And you didn't even look at me. Didn't even kiss me. That was exciting, Josh. I could have pretended it was anyone touching me." Her hands caressed him again, drifting over his chest and stomach. "Anyone at all." Then she lowered her voice to the quietest whisper. "But I didn't. I knew it was you making me come."

She heard a stifled groan and wasn't sure he was even breathing, he was so still and stiff in her arms. Even though he couldn't see her face, she hid her smile.

"And because I can't forget that, I'm going to have to leave."

"Donna..." His voice was hoarse.

"But if I'm giving all this up..." Her hands slid down his body and back up, and she punctuated the pause with another nipping kiss near his ear. "Josh..."

She moved her hips, brushing her sex against his ass, and gave a small, slightly theatrical gasp. "Josh..." She undulated again, and this time, his hips moved with hers.

"Josh..." she mewed, and sensed his breathing quickening.

She leaned in, not unaffected by his arousal, and the words she'd planned to say came out the way she'd hoped, only slightly distorted. "If I'm giving this up," she whispered in his ear, clutching at his chest, "then I want you to fuck me, at least once. Please, Josh, fuck me hard, just this one time..."

Her last coherent thought was that she hadn't meant to beg like that.

He twisted in her arms and caught her mouth with his, pushing her back against the wall of the shower. His hands were everywhere, sliding over her wet skin, lifting her leg and hooking it over his hip, cupping her ass, pressing her sex against his. She clung to him, reacting instinctively with her hands and body and mouth because she couldn't think.

Apparently, though, he was thinking. Somehow, without his mouth leaving hers, he shut off the water and swept open the shower curtain.

She followed him out of the tub, lips still fastened to his, then suddenly remembered something. Pushing him away for just a second, she managed to get out the word "door."

He covered his mouth with hers again, but he reached out and shut the bathroom door, giving them privacy. She relaxed momentarily, then realized he was maneuvering her so her back was against it.

He must have misunderstood. She'd meant to say "door" as in "I called the laundry service to my room and I don't think I shut the adjoining door", not "door" as in "Take me up against the nearest one."

She didn't care, though, not with his hands slipping down to caress her backside. Not with his fingers slipping into her cleft, exerting tiny amounts of pressure against her inner thighs to make her widen her stance and give him better access. They were wet and naked, pressed together against the door, clutching, stroking, searching for each other, and she was done thinking.

She saw a flash of neon green as he tore open a condom package from the small pile she'd left on the counter, but could only concentrate on the determined look on his face. He lifted one of her legs to wrap around him and she groaned in anticipation, arching as he pressed his cock against her opening. He pushed into her quickly, stretching and filling her, and she moaned into his mouth.

His thrusts were quick and hard, almost desperate, and she moved with him, trying to take more of him, take all of him, into her. He kept shifting his grip on her hips -- he wanted to go deeper, she could tell, but they couldn't. Ignoring the rhythmic jerks of her body against the door, she gasped out, "Counter."

He pressed into her as far as he could, then swiveled them to the bathroom counter. Her ass landed on the edge and she welcomed the support, wrapping both legs around him so that he could go deeper into her. And he did, pushing farther, lengthening his strokes. She writhed, trying to arch into him, but her ability to do so was limited. He sensed that, he must have, because after several thrusts he muttered, "Put your legs down."

She did, whimpering as he withdrew from her completely. He pulled her down to the narrow piece of floor and she slipped under him quickly, cradling him between her thighs. Now she pushed up to meet him as he drove into her again. He thrust deep and she bucked into him, her knees high up on his ribcage. She heard herself crying "More!" over and over.

He obliged, moving faster, swallowing her pleas with his mouth. He was driving hard towards that peak, and her hips twisted and writhed, trying to obtain more friction for her sex.

He suddenly began to slow down, and she moaned in protest. Then he shifted his weight almost fully on top of her, buried his face against her neck, and slid his hand down between their bodies. He continued to thrust, stroking her clit in time to their hips, and as he gradually began to speed up again, she groaned. The force of his thrusts built too, and their bodies started to shift across the floor.

"Donna..." He could only manage that one word, but hearing her name was enough. She kissed his temple and pushed up against him fiercely. He lifted his head, his eyes found hers, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. His taste, his cock filled her up, and between them she came apart, clamping around him, crying his name into his mouth.

She'd thought he'd been forceful before, but now he renewed his thrusting, plunging into her further and harder. She screamed and he muffled her voice by covering her mouth with his. Hard, desperate, he rammed into her again and again, faster and faster, sliding their bodies across the floor with every thrust. She gave up trying to move with him and clung to him instead, wrapping her arms and legs around him, letting him do what he needed to.

And he did, using her body, possessing it, taking the sensation he needed from her savagely for what seemed like forever.

Then suddenly it was over. He roared and she clenched herself around him, tightening her grip on his cock as he pushed into her once, twice, three times.

Her lower body had been carried up with his as he arched into her the last time, and now they collapsed together on the floor, breathing hard.

Trying to recover, staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly she became aware of two things. First, Josh was staring down at her with a raw, possessive hunger she'd never dreamed existed. She could feel herself responding, unbidden, her core warming again, the urge to tie him to a bed and never let him go almost overwhelming.

Almost.

The second thing she realized was that her head was aching. Really aching. Her hand reached up reflexively and encountered a hard, cold, porcelain surface. She winced and tried to shift away from the tub.

Josh looked chagrined as he lifted himself up and pulled out of her. "Sorry."

She wriggled away from the tub a little more and rubbed her head. "It's okay. I didn't notice at the time."

He actually blushed. "Still."

"It's not like you gave me a concussion, there, big boy."

He smirked. "You need to call me that more often."

She pushed him away and got gingerly to her feet. "We'll see."

He got up too and drew the condom off. They both stared at it for a moment, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Green, Donna?"

"Are you complaining?"

"You stole these, didn't you?" He gestured at the rest of them, sitting in a pile on the counter.

"It's not like she'll even remember they're gone." She grabbed a towel from the rack and began drying her hair.

"Or like she'll complain to her parents if they're missing." He dampened a washcloth, preparing to clean himself up. She watched him perform the task with interest. Though a penis wasn't an inherently attractive body part, he did have an awfully nice one. One that seemed to enjoy when she watched it.

"Exactly!" she said eventually, picking up the thread of conversation.

He rinsed out the washcloth and clucked his tongue. "I don't know, Donna. These larcenous tendencies of yours..."

"They glow in the dark, Josh."

"And what kind of toxic chemicals--"

"Wouldn't you like to use them with the lights off?" Her voice dropped as she murmured, "We could watch us. You'd be able to see yourself push into me, over and over...in the dark..."

He made a noise that sounded not unlike a moan, and she smiled with satisfaction.

"Besides, it was an emergency." She picked them up and waved them authoritatively.

He finished drying his hands and made eye contact with her. "It was," he agreed soberly.

She nearly sighed with relief at this sign that he might finally be ready to talk.

He took her hand and led her to the spacious hotel bed, tugging down the covers and rolling them both between the sheets. She went willingly, dropping the condoms on the bedside table and wrapping her arms around him even as he did the same to her.

When their faces were only inches apart, he said quietly, "So, you're blaming this all on me."

She bit her lip. "I want to," she whispered, "but I don't think..."

"It's okay," he said. "I lost control this afternoon."

She shook her head. "Do you know how often I've daydreamed about you walking in on me naked?"

He choked. She smiled. Then he kissed her with a passion that made her heart begin to race again.

When the kiss ended, he muttered, "You're right. You can't work for me, now."

"Not unless you're prepared to detail all the ways I've debauched you when we get caught."

He grimaced.

"Even if you don't mind talking about it," she said, "think about me. I'll have to describe all the unnatural positions you've twisted my body into, all the kinks you're into that are not only illegal but also downright unhygienic...We will be doing unnatural, unhygienic things, right?"

He chuckled, but he tightened his arms around her too.

"How you liked it when I begged you..."

He groaned. "God, Donna. When you did that, I..."

"I'm guessing I won't have many opportunities to convincingly beg you from now on."

"Probably not," he said ruefully.

They were both silent for a moment, then she realized she still hadn't asked the question she wanted to.

"Josh," she began. "What...or maybe why...after all--"

He cut her off. "You'll hang around long enough to train a replacement, right?"

She pulled back, hurt.

He sighed. "I know what you're going to ask, and there's just no way for me to answer that question well."

She frowned.

"Really," he said. "It's like...it's one of those, 'Honey, do I look fat in these pants' questions."

"You're saying I've gained weight?"

"Donna!"

"Kidding." She grinned. "Just kidding."

"I'm not a young man. You're going to kill me one of these days."

She snuggled closer to him. "I'll train a replacement," she said.

One hand came up to stroke her hair. "Even if it takes a long time? Say, fourteen to twenty-eight months?" he asked hopefully.

She smiled. "You're really not going to tell me?"

"Can I get away with saying you have spectacular breasts? And watching you dangle them over the tub like that..."

"I was wearing a bra."

"Not the whole time."

"I may need a demonstration," she said, getting on to her hands and knees and straddling him. "Convince me I don't need a better answer."

He did a fairly good job, she admitted to herself later, after he'd collapsed beside her with exhaustion. But she'd definitely ask again.

  
END  



End file.
